The '92 Summer Olympics in Providence, RI
The 90s were weird and sometimes very painful.
In the summer of 1992, one of our neighbors who lived in the two-family house across the street, hosted The Summer Olympics for us. She, an addict and mother of two, and her friend Brenda with the bleach blond hair, gathered all us kids up and created rules and races and even bought a dozen plastic gold medals from the dollar store to give out to the winners.
The days of the street olympics seemed long. In the morning we had water games, using a yellow slip and slide on the concrete, having chicken fights with the hose in my front yard. In the afternoon, when the sun started to go down, we’d buy .50 Spiderman ice creams from the truck and sprint up and down the hill in relay races.
My older brother Chris dominated. His legs were fast and long and he could outrun anyone who challenged him. I was the only girl who lived on the street. I didn’t win anything. The boys would ask me awkward questions like when would my boobs grow in or ‘would I like to see a penis?’. In fact, one of the boys, a chubby little bastard named Greg, who lived in the lower level of the two family house, pulled me inside his screen door and whipped out his eight year old penis and asked me if I liked it. I didn’t.